


Never Tire

by Schwoozie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Beth Lives, F/M, Female Friendship, Late Night Conversations, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a secret. Beth doesn't think it's been a secret since before she came back from the dead.</p><p>Then why does running into Carol while taking a break from fucking Daryl's brains out make her so nervous?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Tire

**Author's Note:**

> I deviated pretty completely from the prompt, but: "Well, I am a sucker for "Romantic Smut" and/or "Porn With Feeling", so I was wondering if you could write a long-ish one-shot of Daryl and Beth (AU or ZA) spending a lazy day in bed together making love and just spending some quality time together?!"

Beth slips down the stairs as quietly as she can, careful not to trip on the oversized robe that nearly skims the floor. It's a gift from Michonne. The woman said her bedroom had come with a his-and-her set of robes and, well. Apparently Rick isn't a robe person. They got a good giggle out of that, especially when Rick walked in a moment later and looked between them like they were something to be frightened of.

Not in that way, Beth doesn't think; people haven't been frightened of her in that way for some time. At least, she hopes not; she got over the novelty of coming back from the dead pretty much once she realized that she was still stuck in Grady, despite the lack of authority keeping her there. Yes, Dr. Edwards said, she was free to go—although he wouldn't advise wandering the wild with legs that wouldn't hold her and half her vision gone.

She got her legs back quick enough, and most of her eyesight in the following weeks; enough to travel, at least, and that's all she needed. To travel. To go. To say fuck off to the officers who had been close to Gorman and Dawn, who whispered of how there was nothing out there for her. Her family had left her. She was on her own. The world is wide and she is so, so small.

But not too small. Even if this robe makes her feel like it.

She pauses for a moment when she notices the kitchen light is on; hears the sound of rustling paper, the clink of a cup. She hates the rush of adrenaline she gets—she's safe here, save the energy for when it's needed—but it fades quickly, and she's left only with a hum of trepidation. They know. They all must know by now, probably knew it long before she came through the gates. But it still feels strangely like walking into the kitchen will betray a secret of some sort; one she'd just paused in whispering, in skin hot and wet.

But she came down for a reason, and she's prepared to see it through. She tightens the robe around herself and rounds the corner.

Carol looks up from her book at Beth's quiet step, and Beth is struck with a strange sense of _doubleness_ —one she'd been feeling ever since they left the farm. Just occasionally, in moments—the feeling that her life before the turn and her life now have merged. Like she's just come down from fucking her boyfriend in her childhood bed to find Carol in their kitchen, keeping her mama company as the muffins for tomorrow's breakfast rise.

She snaps from it quickly—this kitchen is nothing like the farm's, all stainless steel and fake granite, no smell of cedar-wood or muffins or her mother's hair when she pulls Beth in for a hug—but she still has to blink, twice and hard, willing away the black spots in her vision so she can focus on the woman in front of her.

“Can't sleep?”

Beth blushes—at the intimation, the quiet teasing in Carol's tone. It was never a secret.

“Just came down for some water,” Beth says, moving to the cupboard for a pair of glasses. She feels Carol's eyes on the second one and blushes more. “What're you doing up?”

“Can't sleep,” Carol says. Beth turns around, and the teasing is gone; replaced by a flash of weariness that snaps away once Beth's eyes fall fully on her. “I, for one, was trying.”

“I'm sorry,” Beth says, and then freezes, realizing. “We weren't–“

Carol laughs. It isn't a happy sound. “No, I didn't hear a thing. Just plain old insomnia.”

“Ok.” Beth pauses, then moves towards the tap. Part of her still marvels at the fact of clean running water, right here in front of her. Those months in the wild felt like years. “Wanna talk it out? That always helped when I couldn't sleep.”

Beth senses that they both notice the tenses in that sentence. That Beth hasn't been spoken through insomnia since before her mama fell ill. How silent the camps in the woods were where she twisted and turned, the prison where she paced, Judith in her arms.

She'd always felt that prickle, though; the prickle of his eyes as they kept each other company in the night, through a glance or a nod. Sometimes he'd take Judith from her without a word, jerk his chin towards her cell and walk away. They never said anything to each other but it was nice not being alone.

But Carol doesn't call her on it, this mixing of then and now. Just sighs through her nose and shakes her head, tapping a finger against her mug.

“Not really. Thank you, though.”

Beth nods, and turns on the tap; watches the water flow for a moment before sliding the glasses beneath it, one then another, filling them both an inch from the brim. She wonders for a moment if she shouldn't just fill one of the carafes in the cupboard, so she won't have to make a second trip, but with Carol's eyes on her she decides against it. This is enough. With the glasses on hand they can use the upstairs bathroom anyhow.

When the water turns off they fall into silence. Not real silence. The refrigerator still hums, after all; a toilet flushes upstairs and Beth feels it vibrate in her bones, in a way it never would have before. Just the background noise of civilization, making itself known again.

“Has he talked to you at all?” Beth looks at Carol, a glass in each hand. “About what it was like for him, without you?”

Beth bites the inside of her cheek, shakes her head. “Not really. I don't really want to...”

“I wouldn't push him either–“

“I don't want to know.”

Carol pauses, mouth open in the middle of a word. She closes it slowly, looks at Beth more carefully, like she's surprised her. “Why not?”

“Cause I know what it was like for me.” Beth shrugs, skin prickling as the silence upstairs calls to her. “I know it's not the same, and maybe it would be good for him to... maybe someday.” She looks Carol square on. “But right now I'm here. I'll listen if he tells me, of course, but... but I wanna be here.” Beth licks her lips, suddenly conscious of how swollen they must be. “You think I should know?”

“I think you should know what you have up there.” Carol sets her book down, places her hands on her thighs. “He died without you, Beth. He survived, but he died.” Carol leans forward, eyes intent. “I need you to know the responsibility you have to that man. To understand what your actions might cost him.”

Beth frowns, ignoring the robe where she feels it clinging precariously to her shoulder. “Carol, are you giving me the 'if you hurt him' speech?”

Carol doesn't smile, but Beth thinks that at the prison she might have. “I assume Maggie gave it to him.”

“I don't know. Probably.”

“Well. You both need it. It's a right of passage.”

Beth's mouth quirks. “Daddy gave it to Jimmy in front of me. Jimmy came to the door to take me to the movies and Daddy met him with his shotgun.”

Carol snorts. “You don't need to see the gun to know I have one on me, right?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Good.” Carol's eyes soften, and she sighs, tilts her head. “He's a strong man. The strongest there is. But you make him fragile. I don't want to see that look in his eyes again unless I have to.”

“I don't either,” Beth says softly. She holds the glasses to her chest, pressed between her breasts. “I told you. I know how I felt. I know.”

“Good.” Carol drums her fingers on her leg, the sound just barely reaching Beth's ears. Carol jerks her chin towards the stairs, a small smirk on her face. “Go on, then. I'm sure plenty of him's wanting you back right now.”

Beth blushes again, but smiles through it. “I think he needed a break, tell you the truth.”

Carol chuckles. “And here I thought you might come to me for advice.”

“Still might. It's only been a few times.” Beth shrugs her robe back up her shoulder, then pauses, and walks forward, putting the glasses beside Carol's book so she can bring her arms around the older woman. Carol sits stiffly for several long moments— _just like him at first_ , Beth thinks—before hugging her back. Carol's hair isn't long enough for Beth to bury her face in it, but she can smell her neck, her skin, and it's familiar. It's familiar enough that she almost cries. “I hope you can sleep soon.”

Carol snorts derisively, but says nothing. When Beth pulls back her robe is slipping down again, and Carol tugs it up.

“Leave this out for me and next time I can't sleep I'll take it in or something.” Beth doesn't look away from her, and Carol sighs. “I'm fine, Beth. I'll sleep.”

“Ok,” Beth says. She hugs Carol again, quickly, before grabbing the glasses and walking up the stairs.

He's standing when she shoulders the door open, legs poised like he'd been pacing, and even when she's fully inside and the light darkens to the single candle flickering by the bedside, she can feel his eyes intent on her face.

“Everything ok?” Beth asks, blushing a little at his nakedness. They've only done this a few times, after all.

“Yeah,” he says, voice soft, gravely, so familiar it makes her bones ache. “Yeah, just... you were taking a while.”

“Carol's downstairs. We talked a bit.”

“Ok.”

He still hasn't moved, staring at her. She imagines he can see more of her than she can of him, the candle throwing him into backlight. It makes her blush harder, but doesn't stop her from setting the glasses on the dresser by the door, and letting the robe fall from her body. She doesn't even need to untie it.

“Missed me?” she asks.

He doesn't reply; just steps forward, the mountain of him in the dark, stopping a whisper away from her. She can feel his breath on her face, but she isn't intimated. She doesn't think she's ever felt so safe in her life.

“Like hell,” he whispers.

His mouth still tastes like her when she tugs him down, and it makes her brave; leads one hand between them as the other stays twisted in his hair, holding him still when he jumps at her touch.

“It's ok,” she murmurs, kissing his chin, his cheek. He's already breathing heavily, like he's run miles and miles. “I'll take care of you now.”

He doesn't resist when she leads him back to bed; presses him down on his back and forces herself not to look away from how he looks at her, from her breasts to her face to her cunt lips as they spread around him, rub his length between them.

She's wet enough to take him, she knows she is; stretched enough from the two times she's taken him already that night. But she wants to take her time. They have that, now.

“I missed you too,” she says.

The waters stay on the dresser, untouched, long past sunrise.

 


End file.
